Chapter 7

“I’ll send the two of you first, then follow with the others. Are you ready?”

Corec nodded. “Let’s go,” he said.

Leena tapped him on the arm.

He appeared in the glade, followed shortly by Ariadne. They spread out to keep watch and give the others more room. Leena arrived a moment later, her hands grasping Treya’s and Sarette’s shoulders.

“Any problems?” Sarette asked them, grasping her staff-spear and moving far enough away that she could wield it without hitting anyone else.

“We haven’t seen anyone yet,” Corec said. “Let’s head into town.”

From this peaceful spot, their precautions seemed unnecessary. They were far enough away from Tarwen Village that they couldn’t hear anything besides a few winter birds chirping and the breeze blowing through the leaves. There was a light scattering of snow in the shadow of the trees, already melted away in spots where the sun could shine through.

Corec and Ariadne took the lead for the half-mile hike to the edge of the village. Sarette and Treya followed behind as rear guard, keeping Leena in a more protected position at the center.

They’d brought the largest group she could handle at one time. Without knowing what they’d be facing once they arrived, Corec had made his choices carefully. Together, they could hold off a significant force, and Corec, Treya, and Ariadne could all manage some level of protection against magical attacks. That was mostly just a precaution for now—even if Rusol had already learned about the lords’ proclamation of war, Barat was certain he didn’t have access to a Traveler.

Corec removed his helm as he walked, not wanting to appear threatening. Ansel’s men were likely on edge, under the circumstances, and he didn’t want to risk an incident. Ariadne followed his example.

It didn’t take long to reach the village, which was now surrounded by a new wooden stockade, recent enough to still smell of pine. There was a gate in the wall where it crossed the road, with two knights standing above it on a raised platform. The men had loaded their crossbows as they saw the small party approaching, but kept the weapons pointed down.

“Halt and identify yourself!” one called out.

“I’m Corec Tarwen. I’m here to see my father. Open the gate!”

The knights exchanged worried glances, but they’d almost certainly been at the Hilltop battle. While they might not know Corec by sight, it was unlikely anyone else would go around claiming his name.

One of the knights scrambled down a ladder and lifted the wooden bar which had kept the gate closed, allowing Corec and his friends to enter.

“Sir,” the man mumbled as they came in. He was staring straight ahead, doing his best not to look at them.

Corec acknowledged the knight with a nod before leading his companions into the village, which was now perhaps too large to be called a village. Even the hillfolk neighborhood had grown since he’d last seen it, though the flood of refugees had dwindled after the dragon died. The hillfolk had reinforced their earlier, flimsier construction, preparing for winter weather. Ansel must have given them permission to stay.

The men who were out and about eyed him suspiciously, and women ushered children back into their homes. While the hillfolk wouldn’t recognize Corec or his friends, they knew the barony was at war. Any armed strangers would be viewed with distrust.

In the older section of town, there was more curiosity than suspicion, and Corec occasionally heard his name whispered between onlookers as he passed.

Word must have run ahead through the village. By the time they reached the manor house, Ansel and Branth were standing outside, waiting for them.

Corec came to a halt, not sure what to say.

Without a word, his father rushed forward, grabbing him in a hug. He hadn’t done that in...

Corec thought back.

He hadn’t ever done that.

Corec and Ansel were ensconced in the baron’s study, Leena had returned to Warden’s Keep with an initial round of messages, and Lady Isabel had led Sarette and Ariadne to somewhere they could change out of their armor.

That left Treya by herself in the sitting room, staring up at a portrait over the mantel which showed a younger Ansel and Isabel along with a beautiful woman with wavy blonde hair.

“Corec’s mother,” Isabel said, returning alone. “Moira.” She was wearing a dress of mourning black, though neither she nor Ansel had brought up the topic of Toman yet in front of strangers.

“She was lovely,” Treya said.

“She was my best friend,” Isabel replied. “She was ... well, that’s neither here nor there. I understand you’re a Sister of the Three Orders as well.”

“Yes, though I’m with the mystics rather than the concubines,” Treya said.

She didn’t expect the other woman to understand, but Isabel simply nodded. “Moira told me of the Orders. I’d already known of the scholars, of course, but I’d never considered what the name the Three Orders actually meant until she pointed it out. Learning to fight is such a strange choice for a woman. Moira was never very clear on why you would want to.”

Not many women in human lands learned the arts of war, and in Larso, the number was lower still.

“Every Three Orders girl is an orphan,” Treya said. “Sometimes we...” She hesitated, then decided be more direct. “A mystic Sister hunted down the raiders who killed my parents. I grew up wanting to be just like her. I wanted to be the person who helps others, not the one who needed help.”